


blueberry pancakes (pretend like it's the weekend now)

by alesford



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Earp Couch Con Fanfic Contest 2018, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alesford/pseuds/alesford
Summary: Nicole wakes up early to make breakfast for Waverly.





	blueberry pancakes (pretend like it's the weekend now)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is my entry for the 'Fluff' category for the [**Earp Couch Con Fanfic Contest**](https://www.earpcouchcon.com/feed/fanfic-contest-announcement).

 

**blueberry pancakes (pretend like it's the weekend now)**

 

**-**

 

Nicole is not a gourmet chef by any means. She isn’t sure she would even qualify as a cook — even a crappy one at that.

Sure, she knows how to feed herself toast and eggs, canned tomato soup and grilled cheese, maybe baked chicken breast every now and then, usually with a side of steamed broccoli. Nothing too difficult to master. Or at least, nothing that’s easy to screw up to the point of inedibility. She’s never had to _completely_ pitch a meal.  


(That one time she gave Calamity Jane her overcooked, rubbery shrimp doesn’t count; it didn’t go to waste.) 

  
Still, Nicole is hardly a knowledgeable cook and she is especially far from a knowledgeable vegan cook — even if Waverly bought them a massive tome titled _Veganomicon_ to try to make veganism more accessible to the both of them in a town as small as Purgatory.

Her aim isn’t even something complicated like vegan eggplant lasagna. It’s just blueberry pancakes.

Blueberry pancakes!

And yet…

Nicole stares at the mess of flour and soy milk and apple cider vinegar on her kitchen counter. Calamity Jane, with her own mask of flour, yowls at her with an unhappy glare. She sighs at the cat and remembers a second too late not to run her hands through her hair.

“Pancakes should not be this flipping difficult, CJ.”

She stares dejectedly at the slurpy, sloppy slurry of vegan pancake batter in front of her. She sighs as Jack Johnson starts singing about banana pancakes, and she finally decides to throw in the towel. Quite literally. The dish towel hits the counter in a plume of flour, baking powder, organic sugar, and whatever else Nicole threw into the mixing bowl as she blindly followed the recipe that she pulled off some random blog on the internet.

_  
Achoo. Achoo. Achoo!_

   
“Really?” she sniffles.

“Baby?” Waverly’s voice is still slow and slurred, weighed down by the best sort of restful night of sleep. Grogginess clings to her as she scrubs at her face with the heel of her palm. “What are you doing up? It’s Sunday.”

She walks with a dancer’s grace, even half asleep and with a mewling Maine Coon weaving between her legs. She makes her way to Nicole, flour and all, and wraps her arms around the taller woman. Her cheek rests comfortably against Nicole’s shoulder, feeling more than hearing her exhale of a sigh.

“I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed,” Nicole mutters, unable to keep the hint of petulance and disappointment from her voice. “Blueberry pancakes. But this doesn’t look right.” She lifts the wooden spoon floating in the questionable concoction of ingredients.

Waverly laughs, quiet and happy, and smiles into Nicole’s shoulder.

“It’s vegan, Nicole. It’s never going to look _right._ ”

Nicole harrumphs but leans into Waverly’s embrace just the same.

“Let’s give it a try, yeah?” Waverly murmurs into the oversized Purgatory Sheriff’s Department shirt that Nicole uses as sleepwear. “Nothing can be worse than the time Jeremy tried to cook everybody dinner.”

“True,” Nicole mumbles in acquiescence. “Even Nedley wouldn’t try the leftovers.”

They share a quiet chuckle.

   
It’s intimate. This sort of open vulnerability. It’s expected in the bedroom. Acknowledged there with the understanding that it’s okay even if it’s beyond awkward. But here? In the light of day?

(Or dawn as it is.)

It feels even more special. Even more sacred.

   
Waverly presses a kiss to the back of Nicole’s neck and Nicole turns in Waverly’s arms and presses a kiss to her forehead.

They fit together like this. Tucked into one another in the calm of the morning, music playing softly from Nicole’s phone while the sun rises in the distance. Together they take turns dropping vegan pancake batter into a hot skillet with blueberries soon to follow.

The pancakes are misshapen. Some are too light and some are too dark. Others are undercooked and some on the verge of burnt. Still, none of them are inedible. And sure, it isn’t breakfast delivered in bed, but there’s something that’s even lovelier about this scene.

Standing in the kitchen, swaying to the music with love and cooking and singing. Without a care in the world. No demons, no revenants, no long-lost fathers appearing only to die again.

Just them. Together. As in love as two people can be.

 

-

 

 _wakin' up too early_  
_maybe we could sleep in_  
_make you banana pancakes_  
_pretend like its the weekend now_  
_\- 'banana pancakes' by jack johnson_

 


End file.
